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Uncle Phil. 



The Star Well 

And Other Stories 



By 
Roland Williamson 



Illustrated by the Author 



New York 

ttbe •Rnfcfterbocfter prees 

1916 






Reprinted through the courtesy of 

Maury's Magazine, The Churchman, and 

The Christian Herald 



Author 



THE BELOVED MEMORY OF MY MOTHER 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Star Well i 

Courtesy of Maury's Magazine. 

"Uncle Phil" 23 

A Story from the Yellow Fever Field, 
Courtesy of The Churchman. 

Only a Snipe 52 

Courtesy of The Christian Herald. 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 



" Uncle Phil " . . . Frontispiece 

Of Course, the Rig was Mortgaged 

TO THE Last Notch . . . io 

— AND IT Seemed that I almost Saw 

Him Standing before Me . . 70 



The Star Well 

(Courtesy of Maury's Magazine) 



1WAS making an overland prospect- 
ing tour through the Caddo oil 
field, that wonderful section of 
Northwest Louisiana, where, within 
the last few years, from pools some two 
thousand feet beneath a surface soil 
notoriously sterile, there has been 
extracted millions of dollars' worth of 
oil. My driver, one McGraw, and I 
were alone in the surrey. McGraw 
had spoken but briefly during the first 
two miles, but presently the roughen- 
ing of the road seemed to loose his 
tongue, possibly to divert my attention 
from his unskilful driving. 

"Did you ever see a 'wild well' 



2 THE STAR WELL 

afire?" he asked. "It's a sight to see. 
The last one I saw was the 'Star' well. 
I worked on that well. It's the last 
drilling work I've done, and I reckon 
it'll be the last, because, somehow, it 
kinda 'got my goat' — the things that 
happened there. You talk about 
mixed-up luck, but it was sure in that 
well. 

"Two young fellows, Tom Leigh 
and John Anderson, owned the well. 
They were fine, good looking chaps, 
and- came to the field pretty well 
fixed. I don't think I ever saw two 
men more to one another than they 
appeared to be. They were cousins, 
and had been raised together like 
brothers. John was as lively as a 
cricket. He was a plumb minstrel 
show all the time, and kept the hands 
around the well in a good humor, 
telling jokes and singing songs. He 



THE STAR WELL 3 

had an extra good voice. There never 
was a woman in these parts that had 
such a glorious voice as Tom Leigh's 
wife had. I am a fool about good music ; 
and whenever I go down to New Or- 
leans, I always take in the French 
Opera; so, you see, I have heard some 
good music, and I'm no slouch of a 
critic either. Of all the music I've 
ever heard, there was none, to my 
notion, that came up to Mrs. Leigh's 
voice. Her name was Virginia, but 
they called her ' Ginger ' — a nickname, 
she told me, that her little sister had 
given her back in Virginia, where she 
was born. 

"Tom had a good voice, too; and, 
at night, out there at the camp, when 
we had shut down, them three young 
folks would strike up some song. 
They seemed to know everything in 
the way of music; and would go right 



4 THE STAR WELL 

up the line — from the Merry Widow 
to President McKinley's Hymn — Lead, 
Kindly Light. They all sounded 
mighty good and sweet, away out there 
in the woods, under the stars. 

"Ours was more like a camping 
party than a drilling outfit, and we had 
some mighty good times. Miss Ginger 
was the soul of it all. She was one of 
those women that is always a joy to 
see. Whether she was in her ' Sunday- 
go-to-meeting ' clothes or in tramping 
togs; she was beautiful, and looked 
as fresh as a June rose. She had that 
'godless grace and snap and style' of 
the New York bred woman that Mark 
Twain tells of in his Life on the Missis- 
sippi. Miss Ginger surely was a fine 
young woman; and every roughneck 
on the job was dead in love with her; 
and no wonder, either, because she 
alwavs treated them all so white. 



THE STAR WELL 5 

"We all just loved to hear Miss 
Ginger talk. She had a voice like a 
silver gong, and it's chiming in my 
soul till yet. After telling us about 
the lively times she had in the East, 
she would often wind up by saying: 
'Well, boys, here's to the "Star" well. 
Here's hoping it's a gusher; and, if it 
is, we'll all of us go to New York, and 
I'll chaperone the crowd.' She was a 
good woman, too, but just running over 
with life. Every Sunday, she would 
sing over at Mr. Irving's church- 
got up a good choir, — and her voice 
brought many a roughneck to hear the 
gospel. I could see that it worried 
Miss Ginger a good deal because Tom 
didn't take to much religion. 

"Tom and John didn't know any 
more about the oil business than I do 
about the tariff; but they had heard 
of the big fortunes that folks had made 



6 THE STAR WELL 

here in Caddo, and had decided to try 
their luck. They had a lease on a forty- 
acre tract, and owned a drilling rig 
that some swindler had sold them 
for about three times what it was worth. 
The first two wells they drilled were 
dry holes. In making locations for 
these two wells, Tom and John had 
taken the advice of some experienced 
oil men; but the locating of the third 
well was left to Miss Ginger, and she, 
knowing how Tom loved the lake 
scenery, picked out a place for the 
well up on a bluff on the lake. It was a 
beautiful place all right; and couldn't 
be improved on for a camp site; but 
I just knew they would never strike 
oil there ; and it looked to me like they 
could have found a camp site that would 
cost them less money by several thou- 
sand dollars. 

"There just wasn't any counting on 



THE STAR WELL 7 

what those young folks would do. 
For instance, when we were ready to 
start drilling on the 'Star' well, Miss 
Ginger and John stepped up on the 
derrick platform, and John broke a 
bottle of wine over the drill bit, making 
a nice little speech at the time. After 
which. Miss Ginger stood there, with 
the sun shining on her golden hair, and, 
looking up through the opening in the 
trees about the derrick into the blue 
sky, said a short little prayer for the 
well. It was said in such a lovely, 
honest, simple way, that it touched 
the heart of every roughneck there; 
and, although it looked all along like 
it was the unluckiest well I'd ever 
seen, in the end, the way things have 
turned out, that little prayer must 
have gone right straight up to Heaven. 
"They called it the 'Star' well; 
though it seemed to me it ought 



8 THE STAR WELL 

to have been the 'Hoodoo,' because 
it fairly boiled over with bad luck 
from the start — trouble of one kind 
or another. 

"One day, when the well was down 
over two thousand feet, something got 
the matter with the pipe hoist, and 
John undertook to fix it. He had to 
put a rope through a pulley-block, up 
about a hundred feet in the derrick; 
and, as he had to use both hands to 
climb the derrick ladder, he tied the 
end- of the rope around his waist. 
When he got up about seventy-five 
feet, the loose end of the rope got 
around the shaft of the drilling engine 
down on the platform. The engine 
was running slow, and the shaft was 
small. John looked down, and seen 
what was happening. He yelled to 
someone to stop the engine. Tom 
made a jump to cut the rope; but, as 



THE STAR WELL 9 

Fate would have it, he slipped and 
fell on the platform — you know, a 
floor around an engine is always greasy. 
In less time than it takes to tell it, 
Tom was up; but that short space of 
time must have been like eternity to 
poor John, as his grip was being pulled 
loose from that ladder. Tom was too 
late; and as his knife struck the rope, 
John fell, and his body, with the life 
crushed out of it, lay quivering on the 
platform. 

"That came mighty near doing 
Tom up. He would have quit the 
game right there, I reckon, if it hadn't 
been for Miss Ginger. She loved John, 
too; but, taking it by and large, a 
woman is a whole lot more practical 
than a man. Then, too, when a 
woman is young and pretty, and has 
had a taste of the life that big money 
can bring, not alone to herself but to 



10 THE STAR WELL 

the folks she loves, the winning or 
losing of a fortune means a whole lot 
more to her than to a man. 

"So, Tom went on with the well. 
When they got down about twenty- 
five hundred feet — around twenty- 
three hundred feet is the oil strata, he 
was as blue a looking man as ever I see. 
Ruin was staring him in the face. He 
hardly had money enough to pay off 
the hands. Though he didn't need 
it for that so much — I believe them 
roughnecks would have gone straight 
through to China, for Miss Ginger's 
sake, on no pay, — but the pipe was 
giving out; and, you know, you can't 
drill a well without pipe. Of course, 
the rig was mortgaged to the last 
notch. 

"Tom wanted to quit, but Miss 
Ginger kept pushing him on. 'Just 
one more day; only one more day,' 




11' Ijid 









Of course, the rig was mortgaged to the last notch. 



THE STAR WELL ii 

she'd beg. Well, sir, when we lacked 
only two joints of pipe of being plumb 
out, the well came in. 

"If you ain't ever seen a big gusher 
come in, you won't know how it is, 
because I couldn't halfway begin to 
tell you. You have to see one. When 
the first little shudder run over the 
derrick, I knew what was coming, 
and told Tom and Miss Ginger. Some- 
thing was going to happen, and happen 
right away; but whether it was going 
to be just a big gas or salt water blow- 
out, or the nasty, blessed oil, they 
didn't know. For a little while, you 
could hear your heart beat, every- 
thing was so still. There was another 
shudder, and the derrick platform 
seemed to move under your feet like 
the deck of a ship; then the well tore 
loose like a monster boiler blowing 
off, and up shoots a column of oil 



12 THE STAR WELL 

through the derrick, and the nasty- 
stuff comes spattering down on every- 
thing and everybody. 

"When you know it means wealth 
• — the way out of your troubles, debts 
paid, a fine home, travel and all that 
— you don't mind the oil falling on 
you a bit. It's the same feeling a 
fellow has that is baptized with the 
blood, when he's killed his first deer. 
It's being 'anointed with the oil of 
gladness above thy fellows ' — anointed 
'with the oil of joy for mourning.' 
Everybody was happy, though we 
was all thinking about poor John, and 
wishing he was with us. Miss Ginger 
got plumb hysterical. 

"Well, sir, you would think, when 
that well come in like that, that Fate 
had played her last card — her tnmip 
card; but she hadn't. The second day 
after the well had come in, she had 



THE STAR WELL 13 

already poured out more than twenty- 
thousand dollars' worth of oil. Every- 
body was working on pipe lines and 
storage tanks. Tom and Miss Ginger 
were laying their plans to go East; 
and I was mean enough to be secretly 
wishing that the well hadn't come in, 
for the thought of those two people 
going so far away, and, perhaps, clear 
out of my life, kinda worried me. 

"Along about four o'clock in the 
evening of the second day, a storm 
came up. It wasn't much of a storm, 
and lasted just a few minutes. A 
flash of lightning blazed down; and 
by the time the people got up — one 
workman at the tank never did get 
up, being killed — and looked towards 
the well, they seen a column of smoke 
and flames that boiled up to the very 
sky and all over it. 

"The derrick was burned up in no 



14 THE> STAR WELL 

time — like that much paper; — and 
pretty soon, you could see, every now 
and then, through the shifting flames 
and smoke, the well pipe, itself. What 
made matters worse, they had put on a 
*T' joint on the well, and that poured 
the oil down on the ground. If it 
had been a straight pipe, the force of the 
oil would have put the flames up so 
high, that the men could have worked 
on the pipe, right at the mouth of the 
well. 

•'"When the news of the fire went out 
through the field — the field is about 
thirty miles north and south, by ten 
east and west — the different oil com- 
panies and lots of men volunteered to 
fight the fire. A meeting was held 
down at Shreveport, that night and 
the next morning there were fifty 
boilers on the move, from different 
parts of the field, to that wild well, and 



THE STAR WELL 15 

getting there as fast as mule teams 
could haul them over those rough 
roads. 

"On the third day the boilers were 
in place — in batteries of ten — a good 
piece from the well. Leading down to 
five main line pipes, there was pipes 
running from the steam dome of each 
boiler. The ends of these main lines 
were run out to the well — pushed out 
into position, as well as the men could 
get them in that hell of fire and heat 
around the well. 

"The men made shields — about four 
feet wide and ten feet high — out of 
planks and sheet iron, with props 
back of them, and, in that way, got 
up tolerable close to the well. There 
were about a dozen leads of water 
hose, and, with them, the men put out 
the fires on the little oil ponds around 
the well, and also kept the men and 



1 6 THE STAR WELL 

shields from burning up by throwing 
streams of water on them. You see 
it wouldn't do no good to put out the 
well, unless all the fires around it were 
oiit, because it would blaze right up 
again — catching from the gas that 
always hangs around. 

"When everything was ready for 
the steam blow, it was along about 
nine o'clock at night. There was a 
big crowd on hand to see it. People 
had come from long distances — you 
could see the glow twenty miles away. 
There was a moving-picture man 
there, too. He happened to be down 
at Shreveport, taking pictures; and 
when he heard about the burning well 
he came right on up with his picture 
machine. Nothing stops them moving- 
picture men; they are worse than a 
war correspondent, and try to get 
right out on the firing line. 



THE STAR WELL 17 

"It turned out that this picture man 
knew Tom and Miss Ginger, having 
lived and run with them in New York. 
He was a mighty nice fellow ; and Tom 
and Miss Ginger, after talking with 
him awhile about the 'old town' as 
they called New York, seemed more 
heartened than we had seen them since 
John got killed. Well, this moving- 
picture man rigged him up a screen, 
and got so intent taking them doings 
around the well, and pushed up so 
close to the fire, that the heat warped 
the shutter of his machine and came 
mighty near putting him out of busi- 
ness. 

"There were roughneck heroes there 
at that fire that night. It's queer 
how men will do in a time of danger. 
Although they were only getting cold 
dollars for their work, they went into 
that fight on that well and took 



1 8 THE STAR WELL 

chances that would seem, to most 
folks, fit only for a battle for one's 
country. Our country, though, after 
all, means the women and children we 
love; and most of those roughnecks 
there loved Miss Ginger, and knew 
what this well meant to her. 

"When the steam was turned on 
that fire, it sounded like all the thun- 
ders and cyclones and cataracts and 
other rip-roaring things put into one; 
and you would think it would have put 
out the fires of hell, itself; but when the 
steam died down a bit, the fire came 
roaring up again, worse than before. 

"Miss Ginger was plumb sick with 
disappointment, and so was Tom; 
but he didn't let down a bit. He 
just set the men to getting up steam 
again and told me that the trouble 
was that the end of one of the main 
lines wasn't pointed just right at the 



THE STAR WELL 19 

fire. In pushing this main line out, 
it went on the wrong side of a little 
bumed-off stump, and it couldn't 
be pushed over into the right place 
on accoimt of that stump. The stump 
was mighty close up to the well; and 
when Tom told me that he was going 
in and throw this pipe over the stump, 
I told him not to try it till the wind 
shifted. I went around to the other 
side of the circle about the well; and, 
when I looked back, I seen Tom out, 
behind a screen, and almost to the 
stimip. He had a bar in his hand, and 
was going to use it as a lever to throw 
the line pipe over the stump. Just as 
I looked towards Tom, he jumped 
out from behind the screen with the 
lever, and, putting it under, threw 
the pipe over. I thought he would 
roast right there. He wheeled around, 
and as he did, a gust of wind blew 



20 THE STAR WELL 

the well fire and smoke over him. 
Then I saw him reel, with his hands 
over his face, and stumble and fall. 

"Most of the men were over at the 
boilers; but those that saw, made a rush 
for the hose lines and for Tom, The 
whole thing happened in a minute. 
We heard a scream; and, out from the 
black of the tree shadows, rushing 
into the circle of fire, came Miss Ginger, 
making straight for Tom. People 
yelled to her to go back. We were on 
the other side, and couldn't get to 
her. She rushed on and in. 

"Men with thick boots and leather- 
like suits can go where fluify dressed 
women can't; and just as she reached 
Tom, Miss Ginger's dress must have 
touched one of the little flames on a 
small oil pond, or it may have been 
just the natural heat, itself, that did 
it; anyway, in a second, a great sheet 



THE STAR WELL 21 

of flame seemed to wrap her up and 
hold her tight. Then, another gust 
of wind blew the flames and smoke 
right down over her and Tom. We 
men went right towards it, and the 
wind blew off again, and we grabbed 
Tom and what was left of Miss Ginger. 
It makes me sick, even now, when I 
think of it. Every roughneck that 
had worked with us, and knew all of 
the loveliness of the soul that had gone 
out of that poor, black, burned body, 
that we now laid down and covered 
with our coats, couldn't help but cry. 
Not out loud, though, for Tom's sake. 
He poor soul, couldn't see her — thank 
God! — his eyes being about burned 
out of his head, when he fell with his 
face against that pipe. 

"After the ' Star' well was put out 
it flowed seven thousand barrels and 
over a day for months, and every- 



22 THE STAR WELL 

body that had anything to do with it 
got rich. But John and Ginger and 
Tom, who started and named it and 
loved it — Oh, well — life's like that in 
the oil fields," finished McGraw, stop- 
ping his horse, "and here's your pros- 
pect." 



"Uncle Phil" 

A Story from the Yellow Fever Field 
(Courtesy of The Churchman) 

FOR more than two months the 
citizens of T had been 

guarding the town from an 
invasion of the dreaded yellow fever. 

It was October, and the yellowing 
leaves and cooling breezes gave prom- 
ise of the much desired frost that would 
drive "Yellow Jack" back to his 
tropical home. 

An army of volunteer quarantine 
guards were still keeping a sharp look- 
out, both day and night, for anyone 
from an infected district who might 
attempt to enter their town. 

John Gregg was captain of the force 

23 



24 "UNCLE PHIL" 

then on duty, and was riding along the 
dusty road making the rounds. 

As he came in sight of Post No. 6, 
located on one of the many roads 

leading out of T , he was hailed 

by one of the guards. 

"Captain, you're just in time," said 
the guard to Gregg, as the latter rode 
up to the little group of men who sur- 
rounded a dilapidated wagon, the sole 
occupant of which was an aged negro. 

" There ain't any doubt but what this 
0I4 fellow came from New Orleans," 
continued the speaker, as he recklessly 
pointed his long- barreled revolver to- 
ward the battered old derby perched 
upon the grizzled head of his captive. 
"Just look at them fine duds. You 
know nobody but a New Orleans dude 
could wear such togs. I guess we 
had better kill the old boy." 

"You must be a fool, Peters. Put 



"UNCLE PHIL" 25 

that gun up, " ordered Gregg, in a tone 
that had the effect of transferring the 
smile on Peters's face to the men 
standing about him. "Where is your 
pass, uncle? This is a quarantine 
post, you know, and the men have 
orders to turn back all persons who 
haven't certificates." 

"Cap'n, I ain't got no stiffkit nur 
nuttin'," candidly admitted the old 
negro. "I lives way down yander in 
the ken try, " he continued, indicating 
the direction of his home by pointing 
with his whip-staff down the red clay 
road. "I ain't hyar nuttin' 'bout 
no kyaranteen. I'se tellin' you de 
troof, Cap'n. My ole woman hed 
a bad tetch uv de rheumatiz night 
afore las', so I fotch a basket uv eggs 
up, an' 'lowed to buy some liniment." 

He paused, but the Captain remained 
silent. 



26 "UNCLE PHIL" 

"No, sir, Cap'n, I ain't got no stiffkit, 
but I sho' ain't fum New 'rleans. I 
hopes yo' ain't gwine send me back 
bedoubt dat liniment, kase my ole 
woman is sufferin' pow'ful wid de 
misery. Please don' send me home, 
Cap'n." 

Captain Gregg sat silently upon his 
horse, flicking at the toe of his riding 
boot with the long end of the reins. 
He was endeavoring to formulate some 
plan which would give the old negro 
his much-desired liniment. His sup- 
plicant was gazing very intently into 
his face, and presently asked : 

" Cap'n, what mought be yo' name? " 

"John Gregg." 

The face of the old negro fairly shone 
with joy as he shouted: "Lawd bless 
my soul, marster. I knowed you wuz 
some uv my white folks time you 
squelched dat man what p'inted dat 



"UNCLE PHIL" 27 

pistol at me. My white folks tuk 
moughty good care uv dyah niggers, 
an' I seen you wuz uv de blood. I 
sho is proud to see you. Dis is ole 
Phil Hawes. You 'members me, don't 
you, Marse John?" 

"Why of course I do now. Uncle 
Phil," replied Captain Gregg warmly. 
"It's been a long time, though, since 
we last saw each other. I have been 
up North for about fifteen years. I've 
only been back here about six months, 
and have only been down to the old 
place twice since my return, and then 
stayed for such a short time that I 
couldn't get about to see all of my 
old friends. I am very glad to see 
you again. How are you getting 
along?" 

"Jes' tolerable, Marse John, jes' 
tolerable," replied Uncle Phil, wiping 
his black though beaming face with a 



28 "UNCLE PHIL" 

gloriously red bandana handkerchief, 
which he then proceeded to stow away 
in the top of his hat. "Hit 'pears to 
me like de good ole times is plum' 
gone fer good. Looks like all de 
folks is thinkin' 'bout now is makin' 
money. Plum' 'stracted 'bout money. 
When I sees de po' white trash puttin' 
on de airs wid de little buggies, ridin' 
'roun' an' settin' up fer somebody, 
hit sho makes me larf. Ax 'em fer 
sump'n, an' den yo' see dyah troo 
blood. Why marster, when dey give 
a nigger a dime, dey think dey done it 
all. Hit 'muse me fer sho, 'kase I 
thinks 'bout dem good ole times when 
a dime wa'n't nut tin' to a white 
gent 'man. 

"I 'members one day yo' pa come 
troo de fiel', down on de big road, er 
drivin' over to yo' grandpa's ter see 
yo' ma. I wuz choppin' cotton, an' 



"UNCLE PHIL" 29 

when I look up de road an' see dat 
black span er horses what he aluz 
drove I runs to de gate an' opens 
hit. Yo' pa never stopped, but he 
holler out: 'Thank you, Phil,' an' 
wid dat he pitch out sump'n side de 
road. I picked hit up, an' what yo* 
reckon hit wuz? Hit wa'n't no fo' bits, 
an' hit wa'n't no dollar nurr. Hit 
war a five dollar gol' piece, bless yo' 
soul. De nex' day I hyarn 'bout 
yo' bein' born, an' den I knowed why 
yo' pa never stopped to talk wid me- 
Mebbe yo' hed sump'n to do wid me 
gettin' dat gol' piece, Marse John, 
'kase I know yo' pa sho wuz glad an" 
proud when yo' come. 

"I tell yo', marster, dat's de way de 
folks ac' in dem days. Dat's de way 
quality folks ac'. 

"Marse John, yo' ain't got a little 
terbacky 'bout yo', is yo'? I'se plum' 



30 "UNCLE PHIL" 

'stracted fer a smoke. Thank 'e, suh, 
thank 'e. 

"Now, marster, what yo' gwine do 
wid dis po' ole nigger? Yo' ain't 
gwine sen' me back widout lettin' me 
go in town, is yo'? My ole woman is 
jes' 'bleeged to hev dat liniment, an' 
I ain't gwine to resk to go home be- 
doubt hit, ef her arm is crippled wid 
de rheumatiz." 

Captain Gregg looked somewhat 
worried over this direct request for 
judgment in a matter wherein the 
comfort of a rheumatic woman and the 
safety of her husband were the issues 
involved, and hesitated a few moments 
before he replied. 

"Uncle Phil, this is a serious matter. 
We have positive instructions not to 
allow anyone to come in town, unless 
they have health certificates. You 
know I would be glad to help you. 



"UNCLE PHIL" 31 

Let me see," he continued, "I think 
I can fix it. You just wait right here 
till I return. I won't be gone long. 
What sort of liniment did your wife 
want? 'Lightning Rod?' All right. 
You stay right here till I come." 

Leaving the old negro, Captain 
Gregg rode across to a suburban home, 
some quarter of a mile distant, where 
he telephoned in town to a friend to 
send assistance in the shape of a trusty 
negro boy. When he returned to the 
quarantine post, he found Uncle Phil 
seated under a big tree enjoying a 
smoke from the tobacco which his 
diplomacy had secured from his " young 
marster." 

Captain Gregg dismounted, and, 
almost instinctively, Phil hastened to 
take the reins from him, and hitch 
the young man's horse to a near-by 
rail fence. Then taking a seat at a 



32 "UNCLE PHIL" 

little distance from Captain Gregg, 
he remarked : 

" 'Pears like de yaller fever is 'batin' 
down some, ain't it, marster? I ain't 
hyarn 'bout none fer a coon's age." 

"Why, yes. Uncle Phil," replied 
Gregg. "Yellow Jack will be a thing 
of the past in New Orleans, after this 
year. You know, for years the doctors 
didn't know what caused the fever, 
but now they have found out that it is 
only spread by a mosquito, and as the 
mosquito can be exterminated, the 
problem is solved." 

"I aluz did disdain a miserably 
skeeter , ' ' observed Uncle Phil . "I trus ' 
dey will sterminate him. If hit's a 
skeeter what perjuce de yaller fever, 
dey sho come nigh gittin' yo' pa. 

"I 'members when he had dis same 
yaller fever in dis same town what 
yinner is gyardin' now. Hit war en- 



"UNCLE PHIL" 33 

jurin' uv de wah. I wuz yo' grandpa's 
kerige driver, an' I stayed 'roun' de 
big house mos' all de time. When de 
news come dat yo' pa wuz took down, 
Miss Mary wuz plum' 'stracted. 
Nobody ain't tell me so, but I knowed 
dat Miss Mary and Marse Henry wuz 
engage' befo' he went off to de wah. 
I say nobody ain't tell me dis, but I 
tell yo', Marse John, dyah's some 
things a pusson don' have to be tol', an' 
dis wuz one uv 'em. I used to be one 
mo' fiddler 'fo' I got 'ligion, an' I 
sot up many a night a playin' fer de 
balls, an' I would 'a' had to be plum' 
blin' ef I ain't seen dat Miss Mary 
an' Marse Henry love one nurr. I 
jes' seen it shinin' troo dey eyes. 

"Well, suh, yo' grandpa wuz over 
to de ribber place when de news come, 
an' couldn't er got back under a week. 
Dyah wa'n't nobody wid Miss Mary 



34 "UNCLE PHIL" 

but her aunty, ole Miss Sarah. (Yo' 
do' 'member her; she died when you 
wa'n't nuttin' but a baby.) Miss 
Sarah wuz moughty good in some ways, 
but I's bound to admit she wuz pow'ful 
sot in her ways. My ole woman, 
Rose (she wuz de house gal den), say 
Miss Mary went to Miss Sarah an' 
jes' beg her to take her to town so she 
could nuss Marse Henry but Miss 
Sarah say no indeed she won't, dat hit 
won't be proper, an' 'lowed she wa'n't 
gwine let Miss Mary go. Miss Mary she 
cry an' 'lowed she jes' 'bleeged to go. 

"Yo' see it wuz like dis: De wuz a 
trifflin' white boy on de place, name 
Flanders, what yo' grandpa used to 
sen' over to de boat landin' for de mail. 
He loose a letter what Marse Henry 
writ to Miss Mary. He ain't tell 
nobody nuttin' 'bout it. Nex' time 
he goes fer de mail (we jes' git de mail 



"UNCLE PHIL" 35 

once a week) he seen a letter fum 
Marse Henry to Miss Mary, an' what 
yo' reckon dat po' trash done? He 
keep de letter, 'kase he wuz skeered 
dat hit would tell 'bout dat urr letter 
what he done loose. I found de las' 
letter in a crack side de corn crib, 
whar it been hid 'bout two weeks, an' 
I fetch it up to de big house, an' han' 
it to Miss Sarah. She call dat Flanders 
boy up, an' arfter he lie 'roun' 'bout 
it some, he jes' bust out wid de whole 
troof. 

"I knowed den what it wuz dat had 
mek Miss Mary look so po'ly an' 
bothered. Dat wuz on a Monday 
dat I fin' de letter, an' hit war de nex' 
day dat de news come 'bout Marse 
Henry bein' tuk wid de yaller fever. 

"Rose she tell me she heah Miss 
Mary, when she war beggin' Miss 
Sarah to tek her to town, say, 'I jes' 



36 "UNCLE PHIL" 

'bleeged to go to him now. When I 
ain't heah fiim him in three weeks, 
'kase er dat horrid Flanders, I thinks 
he ain't keer fer me. Hit hu't me 
dat bad, I jes' write him a turrible 
letter, an' tol' him I ain't never love 
him, an' for him to sen' back all my 
letters. I tells him I ain't never wan' 
see his face ag'in. An' now he's 
dyin', an' no one to nuss him. Oh 
Aunt Sarah, I jes' bleeged to go to 
him.' 

" Miss Sarah sot her jaw right tight, 
an' 'lowed, she wa'n't go' 'low Miss 
Mary to go. 'I's got charge er you,' 
sez she, 'an' I ain't gwine let you dis- 
grace de Leigh name wid no sech 
actin'.' 

"Miss Mary beg an' beg, but it 
wa'n't no use. When Miss Sarah 
say no she mean no, an dey ain't nuttin' 
gwine budge her. 



"UNCLE PHIL" 37 

"Well, Miss Mary see she can't 
convert Miss Sarah ef she cry her eyes 
plum' out. So she jes' goes an' locks 
herself up in her room. Miss Sarah 
she thinks she hed done right, an' 
dat she hed done squelch Miss Mary, 
but she wuz wrong 'bout dat. 

"Dat night, when I wuz puttin' 
water in de kitchen, my ole woman 
whispered to me, dat Miss Mary want 
to speak wid me 'roun' to her room 
winder. So I slipped 'roun' dar, an* 
fin' young Miss settin' in de winder. 
Hit wuz deep dusk, but I could see her 
face wuz ez white ez a sheet. * Phil, ' 
sez she, an' her voice shook pow'ful, 
'I've helped you out uv trouble once 
or twice, an' I wants ter see if you 
'predates it.' 

' ' I 'iowed dyar wa'n' t nuttin' I would- 
n't do fer her. (All of ole marster's 
niggers loved Miss Mary. She sho 



38 " UNCLE PHIL " 

wuz a angel on dat place, an' de overseer 
what would strike one of ole marster's 
niggers onjesly had better keep hit 
fum Miss Mary, 'kase she sho would 
mek her pa tu'n him off.) 

" ' Phil,' sez she, ' I's got to go to town 
to-night, an' I wants you to drive me 
an' Rose dar in de kerige. Aunt 
Sarah don' want me to go, so I's got 
to slip away. You get the kerige 
ready an' keep it down to the big gate. 
We will get away jes' as soon as we 
can. You be ready, an' wait fer us 
at de big gate till we come.' 

"I jes' sez, 'Alright, little Miss, Phil 
will be dar.' 

"I wuz feelin' sorter narvous Hke, 
dat night. I ain't min' de drive, but 
I feel jubous 'kase I knowed how ole 
marster love little Miss, an' I wuz 
feared she would get de yaller fever 
an' die. I wa'n't skeered 'bout me 



"UNCLE PHIL" 39 

an' Rose, 'kase a nigger don' have 
yaller fever, nohow. 

" Howsomever, I hitch up dat kerige 
jes' as soon as I got troo to tin' in my 
wood an' water. De kerige house was 
moughty close to de big house, an' 
I hed to be moughty quiet to keep ole 
Miss Sarah fum hearin'. I sat up in 
de kerige a long time, an' hed sorter 
drap off to sleep when Miss Mary an 
Rose come. 

"We drove 'way pow'ful quiet, an' 
de ain't none uv us say nuttin' fer a 
good while. Den Rose tells me dat de 
reason dey wuz so late wuz bekase ole 
Miss Sarah jes' wouldn' go to bed. 
Sez she wuz kind er 'spicious like, 
walkin' up an' down on de big front 
piazza. I ain't say so, but I thought 
ole Miss Sarah w^uz troubled wid 
'morselessness 'bout de way she wuz 
treatin' Miss Mary. 



40 "UNCLE PHIL" 

"I never is to forgit dat trip to 
town. Dey wa'n't nobody got kilt, 
an' de wa'n't nobody got hu't; but, 
somehow, I wuz feelin' pow'ful onres'- 
less. I spec' it wuz 'kase I wuz reskin' 
ole marster's lone chile to de yaller 
fever. Anyhow, I sho ain't enjoy 
dat drive. 

"Hit got cloudy 'fo' we drive five 
miles. De win' 'gin to blow pow'ful 
brisk. When we pass troo ole Cun'l 
Mason's place, down by de byar whar 
his son Joe wuz drownded, de win' 
in de big pines wuz mo'nin' g'as'ly. 
De trees grow moughty rank 'long side 
de byar, mekin' hit plum' dark. Ez 
luck would hev it, de bre's' yoke 
come onloose jes' as we drive down to 
de fo'd. I aluz did hate to go 'roun' 
dat place arfter dark, 'kase it wuz 
hamted. Well, suh, when I jumped 
out de kerige to fix de bre's' yoke, I 



"UNCLE PHIL" 41 

stumbled an' fall over sump'n what 
move under me. De thing riz up under 
me, an' de fuss thing I knowed, I wuz 
right on top er one er ole Cun'l Mason's 
cows. She run right in de fo'd, an' 
I pitched in de water. Hit wa'n't 
deep, an' I ain't got wet much, but I's 
boun' to admit I shiver monstrous fer 
moughty nigh fo' miles. Rose wuz 
skeered to death till she fin' out what 
wuz de fac', den she larf fit to kill. 
Hit 'muse Miss Mary, too, an' she she 
needed hit, 'kase she wuz pow'ful low 
in sperits. 

" Arfter 'while de rain an' de lightnin' 
an' de win' all come down. I fasten 
de kerige curtains tight, so Miss Mary 
wouldn' git wet. 

"Yo' know fer to be ole marster's 
kerige driver I's bound to know sump'n 
'bout pullin' de lines; but, I tell yo', 
Marse John, dat wuz one night dis 



42 "UNCLE PHIL" 

ole nigger corned moughty nigh givin* 
up. Wid de win' an' de rain blowin' 
in my eyes, an' de lightnin' er blazin' 
an' bangin' an' blindin', I couldn't see 
de hawses, let 'lone de road. I come so 
nigh drivin' off de high bridge dat my 
heart plum' stopped beatin' fer 'bout 
five minutes, I reckon; an' onct a tree 
blowed down 'cross de road so close 
behin' us dat de little limbs slapped on 
de top uv de kerige. 

"Jes' as we driv into town, de 
sun wuz risin'. I couldn't tell ef 
Miss Mary wuz tired or not, 'kase she 
Ijed her face all kivered up wid a big 
veil. We driv right down to de ' Battle 
house ' whar Marse Henry wuz. 

"De town she did look terrible lone- 
some. I ain't seen but jes' 'bout a 
dozen people, an' we ain't pass but 
two wagons, an' one dem hed a coffin 
in it. I hope Miss Mary never seen it. 



" UNCLE PHIL " 43 

''When we 'rive' at de ' Battle house, ' 
Miss Mary hardly wait fer de kerige to 
stop 'fo' she jumps out an' run right up 
de steps wid Rose behin' her. De 
big front do' wuz open, an' little Miss 
stepped right easy into de hall, an' I 
seen her raise her han' right swif to 
her th'oat an' walk in a room side de 
hall. 

" Dat evenin' Rose tells me, dat when 
her an' Miss Mary step in de hall dey 
see Marse Henry lyin' on a bed in dey 
room j'inin' de hall. Dar wuz a no 
'count white man, s'pose to be a nuss, 
settin' side de bed sound asleep, an* 
po' Marse Henry wuz a burnin' up 
wid de fever, plum' outen he haid, 
beggin' fer water. Rose fetch in some 
cool water fum de well, an' Miss Mary 
gin a little uv it to Marse Henry, an' 
den she bathe he haid wid a cool wet 
rag. 



44 "UNCLE PHIL" 

''Rose sez dat no 'count nuss ain't 
wake up fer moughty nigh er hour. 
When he seen Miss Mary in de room he 
tells her she got to lef. But she 'lowed 
dat she ain't gwine budge. 

"Pres'n'y, de doctor come in. He 
look like he gwine hev a fit when he 
seen Miss Mary, an' say she jes' bound 
to leave de house; but Miss Mary beg 
so pitiful an' begin to cry, so de doctor 
sort er melt down, an' tell her dat bein' 
as she wuz in de house she gwine hev 
de yaller fever anyhow, she jes' ez well 
stay. He 'sist on her gwine an' res' 
herself, do. 

' ' De folks what wuz livin' in de house 
when Marse Henry wuz diskivered to 
hev de yaller fever hed run away like 
a pa'cel er rabbits, but in de 'citement 
dey hed lef 'most ev'ything in de house. 
So Miss Mary an' Rose fix up a room 
upstairs, an' dar dey camp. 



"UNCLE PHIL" 45 

"When I went in de room an' see 
Marse Henry, my heart jes' ached fer 
him and po' little Miss. He had done 
had de fever tree er fo' days 'fo' we 
wuz notify, an' sho looked turrible 
sick — all yaller an' burnt up wid de 
fever. I sot up wid him dat night. 

"Late de nex' evenin', I went in de 
room. Miss Mary an' de doctor wuz 
in dar. Marse Henry looked to'ds me, 
an' hit seem like he kinder smile; den 
he let he eyes res' on Miss Mary's face 
jes' like yo' see a baby look. I see 
by de joyful 'spression on little Miss' 
face dat he war better. Her face 
looked mo' natchel den it hed fer a 
week or mo'. 

"Fum dat on, Marse Henry begin to 
diskiver he strength back. 

"Hit war on a Wednesday dat we 
git to town, an' on Sat'day ole marster 
comed. Miss Mary seen him when he 



46 "UNCLE PHIL" 

driv up, an' she ran out to meet him 
at de do'. He looked pow'ful ashy 
an' stormy when he fust come, but when 
he had seen po' Marse Henry, an' de 
doctor had tol' him dat we alls had 
plum' pulled Marse Henry fum de 
grave wid our nussin', he gin in. 
Arfter dat de wa'n't no better nuss in 
de house den ole marster. He wuz 
jes' ez tender wid him ez a woman. 
I kinder b'l'eve Marse Henry 'minded 
marster of his boy, young Marse Ben, 
what died off at college wid de fever 
'fo' de wah started. 

"One day arfter Marse Henry had 
got so he could sorter notice 'roun' 
some, I wuz in de room, an' I hyarn 
him ax ole marster ef him an' Miss 
Mary couldn't git married right den; 
he sez he had ax Miss Mary an' she 
wuz willin'. De room wuz sorter dark, 
an' he never knowed I wuz dar. I 



"UNCLE PHIL" 47 

'lowed dat wa'n't no place for me, so 
I slips out to de back yard. Miss 
Mary wuz settin' on de back po'ch, 
an' she axed me to climb up in er 
maple tree, what growed in de back 
yard, an' brek her some leaves what 
hed done tu'n purty. 

" 'While I wuz up de tree. Rose comed 
out to de back do', an' tell Miss Mary 
her pa want speak wid her. 'Peared 
to me Miss Mary mus' er knowed 
'bout de words what I hed jes' hyam 
Marse Henry ax ole marster, 'kase when 
Rose called her, she tu'n jes' ez red ez 
de leaves she wuz holdin', an' she wuz 
moughty slow 'bout goin' in de house. 

"I don' know what kinder pertickler 
business ole marster hed to discuss wid 
Miss Mary, an' it wa'n't none er my 
business nurr, but I does know dat 
when ole Dr. Taylor (he war de preacher 
what baptize you, Marse John) come 



48 "UNCLE PHIL" 

to de house dat evenin', he had he 
little grip wid him. 

"Ole marster called me in de sick 
room. Ole Dr. Taylor had on his white 
robe, standin' by de bed. Miss Mary 
wuz standin' dar 'longside er ole 
marster, an' my Rose wuz behin' 'em. 

"Marse Henry was pow'ful pale; he 
had he ha'r bresh up right brave, do, 
an' he look moughty happy ef he war 
flat er his back. When it come his 
time to 'sponse, his voice soun' moughty 
weak, but he war married jes' de 
same. 

"Well, suh, arfter dat Miss Mary 
sho did nuss him. She wuz dat pertick- 
ler I thought she wuz gwine kill 
Marse Henry. De doctor say, ef it 
ain't been fer Miss Mary's good nussin' 
Marse Henry sho would er died. Yo' 
know ev'ything's in de nussin' wid 
de yaller fever. 



"UNCLE PHIL" 49 

"None uv us ain't had de fever, an' 
we tuk Marse Henry home in 'bout two 
weeks. 'Twa'n't long 'fo' he j'ined 
his regiment, an' he tuk me wid him. 
Talk 'bout times, Marse John, I tell 
yo' I seen times wid marster den." 

Uncle Phil was just about to launch 
forth into the history of the "wah, " 
when a negro boy drove up in a cart 
with the supplies ordered by Captain 
Gregg. Those were soon transferred 
to Uncle Phil's wagon. 

While this was being done, Captain 
Gregg explained to the old negro that 
he was sending a few extras to Aunt 
Rose with his compliments. He then 
handed a dollar to Uncle Phil in pay- 
ment for the eggs. 

Uncle Phil held the silver in his hand, 
eyeing it solemnly. "Marse John," 
he said, presently, "I don' likes de 
idea uv sellin' my white folks things. 



50 " UNCLE PHIL " 

Hit jes' natcherly ain't right; hit ain't 
like ole times." 

"There is no seUing about it, Uncle 
Phil," Captain Gregg said apologeti- 
cally. "You made me a present of 
some nice fresh eggs, and I have sent 
Aunt Rose a few groceries. Now I've 
given you a little change for yourself. 
I surely have a right to do that, 
haven't I?" 

Phil's countenance cleared, as he 
said: "Marse John, yo' is a chip 
off de ole block, sho nuff." 

"Now, Jim," said Captain Gregg, 
turning to the boy in the cart, "take 
these eggs up to Colonel Lewis's, with 
this note." 

"Up whar I carried them flowers 
to de young lady, yesterday, Mr. 
John?" inquired the boy. 

Captain Gregg nodded. 

Uncle Phil seemed interested. Lean- 



"UNCLE PHIL" 51 

ing out of his wagon toward Captain 
Gregg, he whispered: "Marse John, 
hit looks like yo' gwine give dis ole 
nigger a young mistis." And judging 
from the chuckle that accompanied this 
remark, there was no serious objection 
to be looked for from him. 

Then he gathered up his reins, and 
with many bows and expressions of 
thanks and praise, he started on his 
journey toward home and his rheu- 
matic Rose. 



Only a Snipe 

(Courtesy of The Christian Herald) 

' The leper raised not the gold from the 

dust : — 
' Better to me the poor man's crust, 
Better the blessing of the poor, 
Though I turn me empt}^ from his door: 
That is no true alms which the hand 

can hold; 
He gives only the worthless gold 

Who gives from a sense of duty ; 
But he who gives but a slender mite, 
And gives to that which is out of 

sight,— 
That thread of the all-sustaining 

Beauty 
Which runs through all and doth all 

unite, — 
The hand cannot clasp the whole of 

his alms, 
The heart outstretches its eager palms ; 
52 



ONLY A SNIPE 53 

For a god goes with it and makes it 

store 
To the soul that was starving in 

darkness before.' " 

The Vision of Sir Launfal. 



I NEVER hear or read any lines from 
The Vision of Sir Launfal but 
what I think of McWilHe and of a 
story he told me of a man with whom 
he had worked on the " Cisco" railroad. 
McWilHe is a civil engineer; and as 
such saw all sorts of life. A man of his 
profession, you know, may spend all the 
day slopping around in mud and water, 
and associating with all sorts of "rough- 
necks, " and that night be in his full 
dress at some swell social function. 

Mc Willie told me this story in the 
Bruly railway station while we were 
waiting for a down train. How he 
came to tell it was this way: A rail- 



54 ONLY A SNIPE 

road employee came along, and talked 
with Mac for awhile about the work 
on a new branch road where Mac 
had been running some lines and, as the 
railroad man was leaving, Mac called 
to him and asked what had become of 
one Thompson. "He's down and out. 
Only a snipe now." was the reply. 
"Only a 'snipe,' huh," said Mac, with 
a disgusted accent on the "only." 

I thought I was pretty well up on 
railroad lingo, having traveled for 
several years, but "snipe" was a new 
one on me, and not wishing to wander 
farther in ignorance, I asked my 
friend to enlighten me. 

"There was a time when I didn't 
know what a 'snipe' was, myself," 
said Mac encouragingly. "I'll tell 
you what a 'snipe' is." He climbed 
up on a baggage truck, settled himself 
comfortably, and went on: "During 



ONLY A SNIPE 55 

the high water of 19 12, I was rushed 
up to our big bridge on the Atchafalaya 
to help save it. We had some gang 
up there, believe me. You know the 
Atchafalaya is one of the most treacher- 
ous rivers in the South. It is hard 
enough to keep up with its shenanigans 
when it's down, but in high water, 
when the Mississippi is sending some 
of her overplus through that way on 
a short cut to the Gulf, she's as full 
of tricks as a cage full of monkeys, 
as terrible and powerful as millions of 
gorillas, and more deceitful than 
Machiavelli. 

''I remember I was sent up there 
once, when the water was tolerably 
high, to investigate the foundations. 
I sounded backward and forward around 
the piers, and found everything as 
lovely and smooth as you would in the 
mildest mannered river in the world. 



56 ONLY A SNIPE 

It was too good: I became suspicious. 
The more I thought it over, the surer 
I was that she had something hid from 
me. My train was late, so I took my 
lead up above the bridge and dropped 
it in only to find a good solid bottom, 
just where it should be. With any 
other stream I should have felt ashamed 
of myself, but with the Atchafalaya, 
no. I was on to her curves, so went 
up just a little bit farther, dropped in 
my lead two hundred feet, and found 
no bottom! That river was eating 
her way to the bridge at the rate of 
more than fifty feet per day; and it 
would not have been many days be- 
fore she would have eaten the bridge 
and, maybe, a nice juicy trainload of 
passengers. You bet there was some 
tall pile driving going on there the 
next day; and the big cypress trees 
out of the 'forest primeval,' impelled 



ONLY A SNIPE 57 

by a giant pile-driver, were standing 
on their heads in that river bottom a 
whole lot closer together than they 
had ever been before; and that sand 
and mud food was so filled with those 
seventy-foot splinters that the old lady 
gave up eating it. She likely turned 
her attention to some poor levee miles 
below, where, with the help of a few 
crayfish holes, she'd eat her way out 
to thousands of acres of young sugar- 
cane. 

"But that has nothing much to do 
with my 'snipe' yarn. As I was 
saying, it was high water time, and 
I had been sent to help save the 
bridge. The Atchafalaya was levee 
top high; and it looked as if nothing 
short of a nice $50,000.00 steel bridge 
would appease her dainty appetite. It 
was about the middle of June, and our 
work-train 



58 ONLY A SNIPE 

'. . . lay 
In a sidin' through the day, 
Where the 'eat would make your 
bloomin' eyebrows crawl.' 

"The whole gang, with a few excep- 
tions, from the chief to the water-boy, 
was hot and, more or less, mad and 
cranky. One of these exceptions was 
a short, red-headed, freckled -faced, 
middle-aged man with large ears 
and kindly eyes. His ugliness would 
attract almost anyone. I was used 
to seeing lots of ugly 'roughnecks,' 
though, and the thing that got me 
interested in him was, first, that I 
recalled having seen him, about six 
months before, do something quite 
unusual, and, secondly, because I 
noticed that he was always doing some 
unselfish thing. The six months ago 
thing was this: It was up on the 
'Cisco' branch, where I had been 



ONLY A SNIPE 59 

running some levels for a new trestle. 
I was there for only a part of a day. 
Just before I left, I saw this little 
fellow, named McCrea, mix in with a 
little affair of one of the 'squawks.' 
A ' squawk ' is a ' straw boss, ' that is a 
sort of under boss who works just a few 
men. Clothed with a little brief au- 
thority, they often get awfully stuck 
on themselves and become tyrannous. 
This particular 'squawk' had a big 
supply of muscle and profanity and, 
seemingly, no heart. One of his men 
was a poor, weak, little 'Cajun,' and 
because the little fellow just naturally 
didn't have the 'punch' in him to 
move some of the work quickly, it 
nettled the 'squawk,' and it looked 
like he took a delight in picking on 
the man, and would purposely throw 
him in all sorts of tight places so as 
to bum him out. If the 'Cajun' 



6o ONLY A SNIPE 

burned out, all the 'squawk' had to do 
was to holler: 'Gimme another hat' 
(a 'hat' is just a man — good, bad, or 
indifferent), and he would be given 
another worker. Squawk didn't speak 
any French, and the 'Cajun' didn't 
understand much English, but he did 
understand enough to know when 
Squawk vilely cursed him, and he 
said to Squawk, with a meaning shake 
of his head: ' Vous ne devais plus 
parlez de cette manure,' or something 
like that, meaning, 'Don't talk that 
way to me any more.' 

"Squawk either understood it, or 
didn't understand and thought the ' Ca- 
jun' was cursing him, maybe; anyway, 
he gave the little fellow a mean shove, 
and cursed him fiercely. That little 
'Cajun' hopped on him like a wild- 
cat, but Squawk was many times 
his match, and in a jiffy had the 



ONLY A SNIPE 6i 

'Cajun' out at arm's length pounding 
his face into pulp. This was the 
opportunity that Squawk had been 
looking for — to teach his men his 
power: but he had underrated one 
of them — this red-headed fellow Mc- 
Crea, who, in less time than it takes to 
tell it, had jumped into the fight, 
thrown the 'Cajun' aside, and with 
a few steam-hammer blows and some 
jiu-jitsu movements, had Squawk 
whipped to a frazzle. My train pulled 
out just after the fight, but I heard 
afterwards that McCrea had been 
discharged for insubordination. I 
hadn't seen him again until I met him 
on that work up there on the bridge. 
I took an interest in the fellow, and 
soon discovered that he was always 
on the 'firing line,' ready to do more 
than his share of every piece of work. 
If he was helping carry a piece of 



62 ONLY A SNIPE 

timber, and the man on his hand- 
stick looked worn out or less strong 
than himself, McCrea would get up 
a little on the stick, and thus take some 
of the other fellow's load. He was 
all man, though, and saw to it that no 
one intentionally imposed upon him. 
I was standing near him on the works, 
and, in the course of his remarks, I 
heard him quote some appropriate 
line from Kipling's Gunga Din. That 
night, after supper, he was out putting 
a patch on his mosquito bar, and I 
struck up a conversation with him by 
offering him some of my 'Skeeter- 
Skoot.' We chatted for quite a while. 
I asked him if he was Scotch. ' Well, 
yes,' he replied, 'in a way I am. My 
father was Scotch, Irish, and English: 
my mother is part French and English. 
Her father was a German Jew. I'm 
just a plain American.' I told him 



ONLY A SNIPE 63 

that I heard him quote some Kipling, 
and asked him how he hked him. Of 
coxirse he agreed with me in thinking 
KipHng great. There was nothing of 
the pedant about the fellow. In fact, 
he murdered the King's English worse 
than Kipling's East Indians did at 
times; but I soon learned that he had 
been a great reader — not by his saying 
so, for anyone can do that, but 
because of his intimate acquaintance 
with many characters of good fiction 
who were dear to me. I talked books 
with him, and wished I had had some 
with me; though I believe a man 
caught with a book in daytime in that 
rush would have been shot on the spot ; 
and at night the mosquitoes would 
have eaten you up about the lights, 
or you'd have burned up your mosquito 
bar in getting one of our dingy old kero- 
sene lamps close up enough to read by. 



64 ONLY A SNIPE 

"When a costly bridge is in danger, 
railroad officials don't lose any time 
in placing their guests at the tea-party ; 
and so it turned out that McCrea, 
who had so nobly assisted the 'Cajun, ' 
was working right along now with 
Squawk. McCrea was nice enough, 
and seemed to have forgiven every- 
thing. Not so with Squawk. He had 
been ragged many, many times about 
that beating, and was now looking 
for any opening for a chance to get 
even. Once, when McCrea jumped 
in and helped take off an unnecessary 
strain that Squawk had thrown on a 
negro workman, I heard Squawk say 
something desperately unpleasant and 
uncomplimentary. McCrea heard him 
but paid no attention to it. 

"We were right in the hottest of the 
fight for the bridge, building braces 
and cribbing to break the force of the 



ONLY A SNIPE 65 

rushing water, when Squawk, who was 
at the time actually working, lost his 
balance, and fell off the bridge railing. 
In falling, his head struck a projecting 
beam that knocked him senseless. 
Just as he struck the water, the sus- 
pender of his overalls caught on a 
spike; l^ut the water sucked his body 
under the timbers, and he would have 
drowned in a few minutes, had it not 
been for McCrea. There was no lack 
of ropes at hand ; and McCrea grabbed 
the end of one, and jumped off the 
bridge. The water was only a few 
feet below ; but the way it was snatching 
and sucking about those piers and pil- 
ings was awful. McCrea didn't have 
to do any swimming for he had hardly 
struck the water when he was driven 
like a chip against the pilings where 
Squawk was caught. The hardest 
thing he had to do was to hold on with 



66 ONLY A SNIPE 

one hand tight enough to keep from 
being sucked under, while he made 
the rope fast to Squawk. It only 
took him a few seconds to do this; 
and we soon pulled Squawk up on the 
bridge. McCrea was now holding on 
with both hands, with his back up- 
stream; but before we could untie the 
rope off Squawk, a big timber swirled 
through and struck McCrea with the 
force of a projectile. The end of the 
timber was a jagged, splinter, that 
struck right through McCrea' s body- 
below the right shoulder blade. There 
was no danger of his sinking, stuck 
on like that; and we rigged up some 
poles and lines as fast as we could, and 
soon had the poor fellow, along with 
Squawk, carrying them to the camp 
car. Squawk regained consciousness 
in a little while, but was as weak as a 
cat from the cut in the head and his 



ONLY A SNIPE 67 

ducking. Poor McCrea had never en- 
tirely lost consciousness, and suffered 
terribly until the King Snipe gave 
him morphine. His wound was fatal. 
A man was rushed off on a motorcycle 
to Birma, a few miles above, to bring a 
doctor; and we telephoned to have 
number fifty-three stop at the bridge 
and take McCrea down to the city. 
On account of the high water above 
the train was delayed. The morphine 
eased McCrea, but didn't put him 
asleep ; and he called for me. I knew he 
was dying; and in the presence of that 
little, red-headed, freckled-faced (the 
freckles showed plainly now, his face 
was so white), big-eared man, I felt 
confused and ashamed. He asked me 
if I had a Bible. I didn't have a 
Bible, and would have given a month's 
salary for one or a prayer-book: and 
told him so. He asked me if I had 



68 ONLY A SNIPE 

anything I could read to him. I 
remembered that I had a small book 
of Lowell's poems in my coat pocket 
at the bridge, and hurried off to get it. 
When I returned McCrea had his eyes 
closed. I thought he was asleep or 
perhaps, dead; but he said, without 
opening his eyes, ' Please read The Vis- 
ion of Sir Launfal.' It was mighty 
hard for me to make my voice behave, 
but I read. When I got to that place 
where Sir Launfal shared his crust 
with, and gave water to, the leper, 
and read what the leper, transformed, 
said, I knew McCrea understood. 
You remember how it goes: 

" ' Lo, it is I, be not afraid! 
In many climes, without avail, 
Thou hast spent thy life for the 

Holy Grail: 
Behold, it is here, — this cup which 

thou 



ONLY A SNIPE 69 

Didst fill at the streamlet for me 

but now; 
This crust is my body broken for 

thee, 
This water His blood that died on 

the tree; 
The Holy Supper is kept indeed 
In whatso we share with another's 

need. 
Not what we give, but what we 

share, — 
For the gift without the giver is 

bare; 
Who gives himself with his alms 

feeds three, — 
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and 
Me; 

"Squawk, who was on a cot, just a 
little way ofif, understood too; for he 
came over, and thanked McCrea, and 
told him in a shaky voice that he was 
truly sorry for all he had said and done. 
I didn't know it was in Squawk to do 



70 ONLY A SNIPE 

such a big thing. I have heard since 
that he is a changed man, and is patient 
and fair with his gang. I sat with 
McCrea for about an hour — until he 
died. I thought a whole lot while I 
was sitting there — of how many of us 
are missing the Gate. ' Because strait 
is the gate, and narrow is the way, 
which leadeth unto life; and few there 
be that find it.' When I got up 
there were tears in my eyes — and it 
seemed that I almost saw Him standing 
before me, 

'" . . . glorified 
Shining and tall and fair and straight 
As the pillar that stood by the Beau- 
tiful Gate, — 
Himself the Gate whereby men can 
Enter the temple of God in Man.'" 

Our train was blowing for the station. 
Mc Willie slid down off the baggage 







-and it seemed that I almost saw Him standing 
before me. 



ONLY A SNIPE 71 

truck, and said: "A 'snipe' is a 
railroad section hand; a 'king snipe' 
is a section boss. McCrea was only a 
'snipe.'" 



